


Perfection

by Wind_Ryder



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: M/M, stiffen the sinews verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 01:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wind_Ryder/pseuds/Wind_Ryder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the back of John’s mind, was a number. It was a countdown until he made his journey back to the mountains, back to Bane, and back to that feeling of bliss that for a fleeting moment could best be described as: perfection. </p><p>~*~</p><p>Based off of Whiskyrunner's Stiffen the Sinews verse. She had posted that after STS perhaps Bane stayed with the League and John went back to Gotham, but he visited every year or so. This catalogues one such visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whiskyrunner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskyrunner/gifts).



> First Dark Knight Rises fanfiction, but I've finally broken away from multi-chapter epics and have decided to write one shots for a while. So I hope you all like this. I loved Whiskyrunner's Stiffen the Sinews verse, and I hope if you haven't read it - you do so immediately! It's fantastic.
> 
> I'm new to Tumblr, but please stop by if you'd like: http://falcon-fox-and-coyote.tumblr.com

John was trembling- his nerves were running so hard. The plane had just touched down, and even now it was slowly trolling down the tarmac towards its final stopping position. The dusty patched road that the plane had landed on was barely fit for a runway, and he was the only passenger, but for some reason the flight crew had been adamant on proper docking procedure. (They didn’t even have a dock, so John barely saw the point in this). 

A green jeep could just be seen about a hundred yards away, and John’s foot started tapping in restless succession as he tried to keep his eyes on it as best he could. A single person was standing by the vehicle, leaning against it with all the grace of a bored enthusiast. John wondered which League member had been coaxed into descending from the Temple to pick him up, but in the end he didn’t care. He just wanted to go. 

A few switches were flicked in rapid succession and John’s hands quickly undid his belt and stood up (much to the annoyance of his pilots). They glared at him even as they bit out that they had arrived and it was permissible for him to stand. John gave them the same falsely sweet smile that he always gave them when they did this trip together, thanking them for the effort, and they ignored him just as they always did.

Ali, who had been piloting this journey for various League members for over twenty years, felt that picking up John was much like being commissioned to pick up a prostitute. He made his displeasure known with every step that he took, and he reminded John of his irritation every time that they met. Rumi, his slightly more enthusiastic copilot, at least had the good grace to keep his irritation to himself. 

“As always, Mr. Blake…it has been a pleasure.” Rumi told him, somehow managing to avoid glaring as John took hold of his bag and hurried towards the door they’d opened. The stairs folded outwards and didn’t quite touch the ground, but John had perfected the leap a long time ago. 

His feet hit the ground just as Ali started to mutter disparagingly about John’s presence, but he could hardly care about that. Instead he was focused only on walking as dignified as he possibly could towards the jeep that had been sent for him. Of course, when he saw who had come to pick him up, his walk turned to an excited run in a moment. 

Barsad looked better than the last time John had seen him. He had more weight on his bones and his clothes weren’t falling apart at the seams. He still had dark circles under his eyes, and his beard could have been trimmed more shapely, but none of that seemed to matter. 

The man stood up straighter as he approached, and opened his mouth as if he was going to say something. John never gave him the chance. He all but threw himself into Barsad’s arms and was hugging him even as he started to laugh. A touch of hysteria hit his voice as he pulled away to get a good look at him. 

“Shit, is that you? You look great!” 

“You ask only after you have assaulted me?” Barsad asked, tone dry even as he awkwardly returned the hug. He retreated almost as soon as John stepped away, and was quickly moving towards the driver’s seat. It was an unspoken rule that John was under no circumstances allowed to drive the vehicle. 

On his second visit he’d attempted to do so, and nearly driven off a cliff in the process. Ra’s had listened to the story with a remarkably impassive face, and had never made an official decree regarding John’s driving skills (or lack there of), however he never asked to drive again, and on one offered. It just wasn’t done. 

“Well I was pretty sure it was you, but still – how’ve you been? What are you doing here? How’s your family?” Barsad glanced at him warily, as though weighing whether or not John was worthy of answering. Eventually he settled on starting the jeep up and turning down a dirt road before answering. 

“I have been…well. I have joined the League under Bane’s supervision…he intimated that you would be requiring transport to the Temple.” Barsad slid his eyes towards his passenger, and John’s face lit up with a cock sure smile. 

“You missed me?” He asked slyly. Barsad returned his gaze to the road and refuted the claim with an entirely straight face. “Liar.” John sulked somewhat, looking out the window to the familiar scenery. He thought about asking about Barsad’s family again, but the man had tactfully avoided answering before and John had no intentions on pushing the issue if things were not well. 

Gotham had been good to John. He’d settled into a routine that helped bolster his confidence and encourage his spirit. He’d joined a local dojo and was constantly practicing various self-defense lessons at the gym near his apartment. He knew it was nothing to the caliber of the League and what they did, but it was something that made him feel like he was apart of a larger group either way. 

Ra’s was more than willing to allow him to join in some of the lessons and training sessions during his visits, and John was grateful to him. He knew he was still just as bad as when he first arrived, in Ra’s’ eyes at least, but the acceptance he was shown was something he truly appreciated. 

Barsad didn’t seem too inclined to start conversations, but John was perfectly willing to talk enough for the both of them. He explained a variety of the things that happened in Gotham, and he even went so far as to invite Barsad to visit sometime. The man refused the invitation politely, but he thanked him all the same. John didn’t really expect anything different. 

“I brought gifts for everyone.” John said suddenly. “I didn’t know you were going to be here, but here…” he opened his bag and started to dig through it until he found something inside. He held it up to Barsad for him to see, and the man glanced towards him thoughtfully. Slowing the jeep, he let it roll to a stop before reaching out and taking the object from his fingers. It was simple, a threadbare red scarf that was made of strong cotton. “It was part of a set, Bane said last time the back brace they gave him was rough on his skin – so I have this.” He pulled out another bit of red cloth, longer than the scarf; that would easily wrap around torso. “But, you can have that part.” John smiled brightly, and Barsad wasn’t exactly sure what to say about the strange present. He thanked him regardless, and quietly put it on. The tails tucked into the back of his shirt, and John was practically beaming as he reapplied pressure onto the gas and continued up towards the mountains. 

“Why do you continue to come here?” He asked after a long while. John frowned at him, and he continued. “To visit Bane…your time with him was not what one would consider a pleasurable experience. Yet you visit him anyway. It seems…strange.” 

“It’s not Bane’s fault what happened down there.” 

“For some of it, yes. Not for all. There is much that could be considered his fault.” John huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Well it’s not about that.” It wasn’t an answer, but Barsad didn’t push for clarity. He looked John over specutively from time to time, but generally didn’t say anything else. 

By the time they reached the end of the road and were preparing to climb the mountain to the Temple, John was nearly bouncing off his feet he was filled with such excitement. Barsad didn’t bother to try to rein him in, the League was more than familiar with John’s presence and they wouldn’t impede their approach any. 

He walked slowly behind the younger man as he hurried up the treacherous paths with practiced ease. Barsad could almost admit that he was impressed by John’s memory and fortitude that he knew how to handle the path as well as he did. He only visited once a year or so, but he clearly remembered how to ascend the mountain and how to do so while conserving the most strength. 

It didn’t stop him from expending too much energy through sheer ridiculous excitement, but he managed the climb very well regardless. Barsad trailed in only a few moments after John had made it to the Temple steps, but John had already said his brief greetings to the guards at the door and was making a mad dash through the Temple to get to the familiar room where Bane always lodged. 

John knew that he had left Barsad rather ungratefully, but he couldn’t help the sudden furious need to see Bane as quickly as he possibly could. He threw open the door to Bane’s room without bothering to knock, and he caught sight of the man turning from where he was crouched by a brazier. 

“Bane!” He shouted out, mouth bursting into a smile even as he tossed his bag to the ground and hurried to his friend’s (partner’s? Lover’s?) side. Banes eyes were crinkled in that oh so familiar way even as he wrapped his arms around John’s still thrumming body. Standing there in Bane’s embrace felt like something had just slotted into perfection once again. 

Like a blind man who was granted sight for the first time, John felt like everything was as it should be once again. He let out a deep breath of relief, gripping Bane’s back tightly. He could feel the toned muscles beneath his hold, and it felt like familiarity and warmth. 

“Are you well?” Bane asked him, as he always did. John couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face at that, but he nodded anyway. Bane’s hand had lifted, and the pad of his thumb pressed slightly against John’s lips, and John kissed the digit as passionately as one could kiss a thumb without dipping into vulgarity. It made Bane’s eyes crinkle again, and he smiled back in delight. 

“I have presents!” He announced, turning and going towards his discarded bag. The door was still open from his mad entrance, and he closed it now without so much as a second glance at it. Then, he turned and hurried back to sit with Bane who was slowly lowering himself back down towards the brazier. 

His eyes hadn’t left John the entire time he was moving, and John had felt the burning of their gaze on his skin like a beacon in the dark. Perfection. His mind supplied helpfully. John knew he still had a stupid grin on his face, but it was always like this between them. 

He settled against Bane’s chest, practically draping himself in Bane’s lap as he sorted and sifted through the bag to find everything he’d collected. There was always extra clothes at the Temple for him, so he’d never bothered to pack things like that. Instead, his bag was filled with presents and memorabilia he wanted to share with Bane and Talia, occasionally Ra’s as well. Barsad would now have to be added to that list; John realized with a smile, maybe Barsad’s family too.

First came the books. John packed as many as he could carry and didn’t bother trying to sort them by topic. He handed each one over to Bane like the treasure’s he perceived them to be. The titles ranged from anything to everything, but John would be lying if he said that he didn’t spend half his paycheck (more than once…) on a book that was the same publisher, edition, and language as the books that were in Bane’s original collection. He had made it his personal goal to rebuild that army one book at a time, and he had managed to do so admirably over the past few years. More than two thirds of it was completed and there were dozens of new titles on the shelf as well. 

(Years later, when John hears about Bane’s excommunication, his mind will stutter to a stop. He’ll only be able to question about those books and what was going to happen to them all. Bane hadn’t been able to bring them with him when he was forced out. Ra’s had allowed John to pack them all back up and bring them back to Gotham with him, where they remained on his bookshelf for the rest of his life). 

Bane always took the books with the same amount of delighted reverence. He ran his fingers over the spines, traced the covers, thumbed through the pages, and read a few random lines from within. Then, he would place them aside with the greatest amount of care and give John a look that bore down into his soul. John never failed to preen under such a look, but he’d be lying if he said that wasn’t all that look inspired him to feel. 

As platonic as their meetings always aspired to be, it never lasted long before John’s clothes met with Bane’s on the floor and he was lost in the warmth of Bane’s embrace. They molded into each other, and John delighted in the feeling of hot calloused fingers across his skin. 

Bane generally flinched when John tried to touch his mask, but on good days, John would kiss over the mask where he knew Bane’s lips would be, and he would stay like that until the medication that seeped out on each exhale made his lips numb slightly around the edges. 

John found that it was easy to forget time as he stayed with Bane. They were unusually talented at losing track of time the longer they were together. John found himself draped in Bane’s embrace, talking about everything life had to offer. He talked a lot about Gotham and the boys home that he was working out of these days, and he even shyly admitted that he’d gone back to the academy. 

When people had confronted him about his much publicized death, he told them that there had been a mistake, and he’d been released from the prison after a concerned benefactor had taken an interest in him. “They believed it too,” he laughed bitterly, “like Ra’s could pull of one being of those Gotham socialite types. Talia has a better chance of convincing them then Ra’s.” 

It was always roughly around that point that John would remember that he still needed to see her, and Bane would politely lead the way towards her chambers. There they would spend their time either convincing Talia to allow John to greet her, or every waking moment with the girl once she realized John had arrived. She still flipped back and forth between being excited to see him, or ambivalent at his presence. The older she got, the more she seemed annoyed that he was continuing to visit at all, as though he was bothering her by merely wishing her well. 

She was usually won over by presents, however, and John always ensured that he brought plenty for her as well. He had toys and games and various books and clothing that he collected at the advice from the children he worked with. She had her own chest full of gifts that John had bequeathed to her over the years, and usually once he paid his tribute she was delighted to have him be there once more. Still, she was insistent on being in charge and he generally accepted that that was how she was always going to be. 

But he spent each night in the arms of Bane, and his body felt ways that it only felt in his arms. He continued to murmur praises of affection into Bane’s ear throughout it all, reinforcing to him that he still thought that Bane was handsome, that he still found Bane desirable. 

During meal times, when Bane was at his most uncertain, John always was there – pressing feather light kisses to damaged lips and refusing to allow him to think that he didn’t deserve the contact. John was always quick, he understood how much Bane required the mask to keep the pain at bay, but Bane usually pressured him to elongate the contact and to just last one second more. John almost always gave in. 

John spent weeks with Bane, wrapped in his embrace and ignoring the world around him. He spent weeks feeling content and at ease. Then, inevitably, he felt the draw to go back to the city and someplace he called home once more. Inevitably, he knew he needed to pull away. He needed to let Bane continue his training and let life return to normal at the Temple. 

Ra’s was always unfailingly accommodating while John was there, but John knew not to overstay his welcome. Ra’s still felt guilt over his wife and daughter’s fate, but that didn’t mean John had to take advantage of his generosity. He always left a small token of his appreciation for the League master, and eventually he slipped away. 

On his final day he would let Bane leave the mask off for however long Bane could stand it. They would kiss by the brazier, leaving their marks on each other for as long as they could manage it. Bane would tell him in his unmechanized voice that he would mark him so hard that John would still have the marks by the time they saw each other again. 

(The bruises always faded within a week, though, and John watched them fade away in misery from his apartment in Gotham whenever he returned.)

Barsad volunteered to drive him back to the airport, but they didn’t talk too much on their way back. John asked Barsad to look out for Bane for him, like he even needed to, but Barsad promised he would do so solemnly. Before he made his way back across the poor excuse for a tarmac, John pulled Barsad in for a quick hug, and smiled at the red scarf that poked out from under his collar. 

He turned on his heel and hurried into the plane that was waiting to take him to the main airfield and return him back to Gotham. Ali was muttering again: “I have flown League assassins for twenty years. Twenty years! And now I am reduced to whores!” John ignored him entirely and strapped himself in as Rumi closed the door behind him and they made their way into the sky. 

In the back of John’s mind, though, was a number. A countdown until he made his journey back to the mountains, back to Bane, and back to that feeling of bliss that for a fleeting moment could best be described as: perfection.


End file.
